


Pleiades

by felisblanco



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-09-14
Updated: 2006-09-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felisblanco/pseuds/felisblanco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys perform a spell that has disastrous effects, throwing Sam into a world of darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta’d by the lovely [](http://hellziggy.livejournal.com/profile)[**hellziggy**](http://hellziggy.livejournal.com/).

For a moment there was complete silence, the white smoke surrounding them giving him an eerie feeling of solitude. Then a soft breeze brushed the veil away and he turned around to find Dean grinning with triumphant glee some feet away.

“Beat that, you ugly sonofabitch!”

Sam's laugh choked on a cough when he inhaled the last trace of smoke “Yeah.” The smoke stung his eyes and he blinked to clear them. “Didn't think it would blow up like that.” The crater in front of them was about six feet in diameter, leaves and dust still falling slowly to its bottom two feet below.

“Fucking Hiroshima, baby!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dean. That's exactly what this was.” He gathered the scattered remains of the smashed jar, not wanting the symbol-adorned shards to fall into some kid's hands. Who knew what powers they still held? His head was starting to hurt and he rubbed his temples in irritation. “Congratulation, you're Little Boy.”

Dean frowned. “Dude, what's your problem?”

“Nothing.” Sam swung the heavy duffel bag over his shoulder, flinching when the strap scraped over the bruise on his back. Fucking demon slamming him into that tree. “Let's just get out of here. The smoke is making me nauseous.”

Dean gave him a thoughtful look but then he shrugged and hoisted his own bag and they headed back through the woods. It was starting to get dark and Sam kept stubbing his toes on roots and getting slapped in his face with branches. The fact that Dean seemed able to avoid all obstacles, sauntering between the now black tree trunks with as much ease as if he'd been strolling down Hollywood Boulevard, only irritated him further.

“Where's the damn road?”

“It's right ahead.” Dean glanced over his shoulder. “Sam, you alright?”

“Yeah. Just... fucking trees.” He swore as another branch hit his already aching head. “Shit!”

“That's what you get for being a freaking giant,” Dean snorted and kept walking, throwing glances over his shoulder now and then. When Sam tripped over still another root and completely lost his balance Dean swung around and just managed to catch him before he crashed into a tree trunk.

“Whoa, watch out. You're stumbling like an overgrown toddler, Sammy. Of course, you are one...”

“It's dark! Can't see a damn thing.” Sam tried to twist out of Dean's grip around his arm but it only tightened.

“It's not that dark.” Dean grabbed his brother's chin and forced Sam to look at him. “Dude, your eyes are way dilated.” He held up his hand. “How many fingers have I got?”

Sam squinted, which only made his headache worsen. “Three?”

Dean dropped his hand. “Ok, we've got a problem. The smoke must have doped up your eyeballs or something.”

His stomach did a twist but he ignored it. “Dean, I'm sure it's nothing. Just need some sleep, man. My head is killing me. Maybe that's why.”

Dean studied him for a moment then nodded. “Ok. But if you're not better tomorrow I’m taking you in.”

“Sure, whatever.” Sam rubbed at his eyes and squeezed them tight shut a few times before squinting into the woods. “Which way are we going again?”

Dean seemed to hesitate but then he reached out and took Sam’s hand, sliding his fingers along the palm before tightening them around the back. “Here. Follow me.”

Dean's palm felt warm, his fingers strong and rough, as he lead Sam through the trees and towards the road. Sam suddenly had a memory flash of a much younger Dean holding Sam's small hand, rubbing his fingers soothingly as he lead him through another forest at another time, long long ago. Their father stalking ahead, angry and silent. The smell of burnt flesh and fur clinging to Sam’s nostrils. Werewolf. Iowa. Ten years old and too sleepy and frightened to keep his eyes open. Their father's voice urging them to hurry up and Dean's voice whispering, “We're almost there, Sammy. Just hang on.” He'd just closed his eyes and let himself be led through the dark, trusting his big brother to get him home safely.

Sam’s head suddenly started spinning and he had to ask Dean to stop while he blinked repeatedly, breathing deeply in the smell of pine trees and wet leaves through his nose as he clutched Dean's hand in his. He felt weak and pathetic, clinging to his big brother's hand like he was still that small boy and he was almost glad he couldn't see more than a shadow of the exasperated look he was sure Dean had on his face.

“You ok there, Sammy? Not gonna puke or anything, are you?” The voice was calm, but Sam was sure he could detect a hint of irritation underneath.

“No.”

He clenched his jaw and nudged Dean to continue, clawing for hold when his sweaty fingers momentarily slipped out of Dean's grasp. Dean paused then laced their fingers together for a better hold. This time he tugged Sam more gently along, muttering reassurance of “Just a bit further” and “We're almost there.”

The forest seemed to be moving, branches and tree trunks heading for them and then swaying away at the last moment and Sam could feel his heartbeat picking up as worry and nervousness twirled in his stomach. What if there really was something wrong with him?

The trees finally gave way to open range and he breathed out in relief when the ground underneath his feet changed from knobbly roots to relatively smooth gravel. Dean still didn't let go off his hand until they arrived at the car, opening the door before stepping aside.

“Here we are.”

His fingers slipped away and Sam fought the urge to catch them again, even as he hated himself for being such a baby. _Christ, get a hold of yourself, you goddamn pussy. It’s just a bit of darkness._

“You ok?”

“No.” Sam folded his long body into the car then waited until Dean had walked around it and slid in on the other side before adding, “You sure it's not dark?”

“I'm sure. Twilight, but not dark.” With a frown Dean grabbed Sam's chin again, turning his head and staring into his eyes. “You seeing any white spots or anything?”

“No. But things are... moving.”

The frown deepened as Dean let go of Sam to turn around and stick the key into the ignition. “Moving?”

“Yes. Shit.” Sam closed his eyes and leaned back. “I feel like I'm on a goddamn high. The whole world is spinning.”

“Dude, we should have you checked out. Seriously.”

He shook his head, which only served to worsen his headache. “It's probably just the dust from the damn blast. We put some weird stuff in that jar. Besides, we're like in the middle of nowhere, Dean. There's no hospital for miles, you know that.”

“Yeah, but...”

“I'd rather just sleep, ok?”

Dean sighed and started the car. “Ok, ok. But if you start bleeding from your eyeballs again, Sam, I'm driving you those damn miles, even if I have to knock you over the head and tie you up to get you there.”

Sam just flipped him off. “Please keep your dirty fantasies to yourself, bro.”

“You wish,” Dean snorted, the Impala spitting up gravel as he turned it on the narrow road and headed back to the motel.

By the time they got there Sam's headache had turned into a full blasted brain attack and everything was just one big blur. He was shaking, sweat pouring off him in buckets, and stumbling those few steps to their room was almost more than he could manage.

“Whoa!”

Dean grabbed Sam as his knees suddenly gave away, putting his arm around Sam's waist and holding him upright as he fished the keys out of his jeans pocket. When he finally got the door open he steered Sam through it and to one of the beds. After pushing Sam down with a curt “Sit” Dean pulled off Sam’s sneakers and jacket, before lowering him gently down on his back.

Sam groaned and threw one arm over his eyes, the soft light of the room enough to make them throb with pain. He felt oversensitive, each sound Dean made scratching his brain like fingernails on a chalkboard, the musty smell of the room attacking his nostrils. He thought he could taste blood on his tongue.

“Here.”

Sam sat slowly up and Dean shook three pills into his hand which he popped into his mouth before taking the glass of water Dean offered him between his shaking hands, spilling some down the front of his shirt as he drank. He could feel Dean watching him and when he looked up he saw a blurred version of his brother's face gazing down at him. Sam wiped his mouth with the back of his hand then closed his eyes, handing Dean the empty glass as he fell back on the pillows.

“I need to take a shower, Sammy. You cool?”

Sam grunted, waving his hand weakly in a you-go-ahead gesture and after a few moments silence he felt Dean walking away. There was the distinct sound of clothes being removed and thrown on the other bed and then the shower being turned on. Dean had left the door open, as if he didn't quite trust Sam to be alone and the thought made Sam’s stomach twist even tighter. He breathed deeply in through his nose, out through his mouth, trying to relax his tense nerves and calm his clenched guts, but it wasn’t helping much.

This was not good. This was so fucking bad but panicking wouldn’t make it any better. Why this scared him so much, he wasn’t sure. He could remember being afraid of the dark as a kid but he’d overcome his fears years ago. Or rather, a life of hunting in the damn dark had forced him to overcome them. Of course this wasn’t your everyday, or night, darkness. This was you’regoingblindasabatSam! darkness and to tell the truth he thought he was entitled to a little bit of panicking. Or even full-blown terror. Air gulped down his throat in shallow gasps. Fuck.

He tried to remember the yoga breathing techniques Jess had taught him but it was damn hard concentrating on anything as his thoughts crashed around in his aching head. People didn't just turn blind overnight, did they? Did they? And it wasn't just his vision, he felt like he was burning up, his skin and bones becoming hotter by the minute, and on top of that the headache didn't feel right either. He'd had all kinds of headaches, especially lately with the dreams and visions, but this one was different. More… vicious. And it just kept getting worse and worse. Like something was crawling through his brain with claws and teeth. Biting and scratching and... Jesusfuckmakeitstop!

“Sammy? Sam? Hey, come on. Stop it! Stop it, Sam!”

He fought the hands holding him down, keeping him from scratching at the blinding pain piercing his eyes. “Get off me! I need to-” He sobbed as Dean pushed him down, straddling him to keep him from escaping, water dripping from his wet hair and splattering on Sam’s face and chest.

“You need to calm the fuck down. You're scratching your own eyeballs out, Sam.”

He struggled as Dean held him down until the pain slowly died down to a stabbing ache. Sam stopped fighting and lay still, breath heaving, eyes closed tight.

“You done?”

He nodded slowly, wary of the pain flaring up again but it kept quiet, pulsating behind his eyeballs.

Dean hesitated a moment longer then carefully let him go, swinging his right leg over to sit down on the edge before reaching out to feel Sam’s forehead. His palm was wet as well and Sam realized Dean must have jumped right out of the shower. He opened his eyes cautiously against the light, peering out between narrow slits. Dean’s wet chest filled his blurred vision, drops of water glittering where they clung to his tan skin. He smelled of soap and heat. Sam closed his eyes again and breathed out.

“Fuck, you're burning up. That's it, I'm taking you in.”

The bed moved and when Sam opened his eyes Dean had his back turned to him, jeans in his hand. Sam was just about to make some lame naked butt joke to counter the awkward silence when something bright suddenly flashed before his eyes and then everything went completely black.

“Dean?”

Dean sighed wearily as if he expected Sam to argue. “What?”

“No, it’s… What happened? Did you…? Dean, that's not funny!” He jumped as a damp palm was laid on his forehead. “Dean?”

“No, it’s the Easter Bunny.” There was a pause. “Crap. You can't see anything now?”

“Are the lights on?”

Another pause, longer this time.

“Yes.”

“I can't see shit! It's all black!” His voice was shrill, but fuck, he didn't care. “What the hell is happening to me?”

“I don't know. But this ain’t no simple smoke poisoning.” Dean’s fingers came to Sam’s forehead, tipping his face up before pulling his eyelids wide open. “Your eyes have gone milky white. With black spots. Huh. Yeah, that looks like a pattern. Familiar.”

Dean pulled away and Sam could feel panic squeezing his chest. He fumbled into the darkness, searching frantically for something to grab hold of as his breath got faster and shallower. Shit. Breathe, breathe. “Where-where you going? Dean? Dean?”

Dean's hand came back, cupping his face, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. “Sshh, calm down. Sammy, it’s gonna be ok. Hey! Don’t go all pussy on me, little brother.”

“I can’t… help it. I don’t know… why I’m…” He gasped for air. “So… damn… dark. Dean.”

“I’m here. I'm not going anywhere, Sammy. I'll be right here. Breathe. Come on, Sam. In. Out. Hey. Hey! Stop it!”

There was a rustling sound and then something smelling of peanuts and chocolate covered his nose and mouth.

“Deep breathing, Sammy. Come on. In. Out. In. Out. That’s it.”

His chest felt too small, his lungs seeming unable to expand enough for more than shallow gasps but finally he managed to slow down until he was taking deeper breaths, and the airy lightness disappeared from his head. Dean moved away what Sam guessed was a yellow bag of M&M’s and laid a hand on Sam’s chest, rubbing it slightly.

“Feeling better?”

He swallowed. His throat felt dry. Sticky. “Yeah. Sorry.”

Dean continued rubbing Sam’s chest in slow circles with the heel of his hand. “It’s ok. Damn.” He gave a short dry laugh. “Haven’t had to do that in a long time. Great timing for bringing back the panic attacks, bro.”

“Back?”

The rubbing stopped. “I swear, your memory is like a sieve, Sam. Or have you just gotten so good at blocking out your life before college?” The sigh sounded more tired than irritated. “Yeah, back. After the Shtriga you used to get these all the time, almost every night. We had to keep a light on so you wouldn’t freak out. Hyperventilating, crying, sometimes lashing out. Punched me quite a few times.” He chuckled softly. “It got better after a few weeks but you still had them every now and then for years, especially during winter blackouts. You had some serious issues with darkness, Sammy. Still do, it appears.”

“Shit.”

He did remember being scared to fall asleep and Dean crawling into bed with him to hold him. He did remember crying. A lot. Until his chest ached and his head felt like it was gonna pop off his neck. Dean’s voice whispering soothing words into his ear, his grip getting tighter as Sam slipped away into what he’d thought was sleep. Maybe he’d just never realized what was happening.

“For years? How long?”

“Uhm, until you were nine, ten, something like that. You don’t remember?”

“No. How did it stop?”

“Dad gave you the .45”

“Oh.” That he did remember. It was one of those things he’d tagged as yet another proof of how fucked up his childhood had been. He was right, but not exactly in the way he’d thought. “Guess I found my inner child.” He laughed, but it was a shrill and desperate sound and he cut it off before it turned into something worse.

“Sam, I know it’s scary but you need to keep your shit together, ok? Don’t freak out on me.” The gentleness in Dean's voice should have calmed him down but instead it only made his heart jump and his stomach start knotting up again.

“Ok. Ok. Just don't... Don't leave.” Knowing he sounded like a total wuss was still better than the thought of being left alone in the darkness.

“I won't. I promise. I need to do some research so just close your eyes and try and get some sleep, ok?” Dean pushed Sam's sweat damp hair away from his eyes. “That blank stare is freaking me the fuck out. You look like a frickin' zombie.”

Sam managed a shaky laugh. “Sure. Yeah, I'll try that.” Not that it made any difference to him whether he kept them open or not but he let his eyelids drop and Dean gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder before standing up. The familiar sounds of Dean moving around lulled Sam into a sense of calm, slowing down his frantic thoughts until eventually that along with the fever and the triple dose of painkillers shoved him into dreamland.

Throughout the night (or was it day again?) he slipped in and out of consciousness, his sleep marred by the usual nightmares, his waking moments soothed by the familiar sounds of research. Dean's frustrated sighs, the shuffling of worn pages being turned, the clicking of the keyboard. A few times he woke up gasping, clawing as pain speared his brain and eyes. Each time Dean jumped over and held him down until the agony subsided, then brought him a cold cloth for his forehead and sat on the edge of the bed, stroking Sam's back until he fell asleep again.

\--------------------------------------------

“Sam? Sammy, wake up.”

Dean was nudging Sam gently and it took him a few moments to realize why everything was so dark but once it hit him he could feel the panic gripping him again. His heart sped up and he stiffened. Fuck, no. He wasn't going to let this break him. It was easier to fight now he knew what was happening and after a few deep breaths he could already feel the panic subsiding. Dean’s hand rested on his arm, waiting patiently until he blinked his eyes open and turned his head, staring in the direction of the voice.

“I’m… I’m awake. What is it?”

Dean squeezed his arm lightly before letting go, the bed next to Sam’s creaking as he sat back. “I think I've got it. Two of the ingredients we used in that spell? Mixed together and then burned, the smoke can cast The Curse of Pleiades, The Seven Sisters, which causes blindness and violent fevers.” Dean paused. “Among other things. Sound familiar?”

“Painfully.” Sam sat slowly up, fighting the nausea as the whole world threatened to overturn. The sheet stuck to his sweat-slick body and he moved to push it away only to realize he had nothing on but his boxers, which were twisted and damp and he bet they smelled. Dean must have helped him out of his dirty and sweaty clothes sometime during the night although Sam couldn't remember it. He pulled the sheet slowly back over his lap, concentrating again on what Dean had just said.

“Yeah, and I was closer to the blast, inhaled a lungful of that shit.” He swallowed. “Is it...? Can we reverse it?” He hated the way his voice trembled.

“Don’t be a fricking idiot, Sammy. ’Course we can. I just haven’t found out how yet. I need to...” Dean coughed and Sam flinched at the exhaustion in his voice. “... check some things out. Make some calls. There's an article...” He coughed again, swearing under his breath.

“Dean, it's alright. Take a break. Get some sleep.”

“I need to find... I don't have time for sleep, Sam. I need to find this damn cure and...”

“I can hear how tired you are, Dean. Bet you can hardly see the screen anymore.”

There was silence and then Dean's voice came back, sounding oddly faint. “This ain’t exactly my gig, bro, all this damn Googling. Could really use your geek skills right about now.”

“Hey, still a geek. Just a blind one.”

Dean hissed in his breath. “Don't- Don't fucking joke about that.”

There was a loud bang that made Sam jump and he swung his legs over the edge, the sheet slipping from his waist as he stood up and took a step forward. “Dean?”

“Just... You're gonna be fine.”

The voice was muffled and when Sam reached out, his fingers caught in Dean's hair. He was sitting on the bed, head down, and Sam could envision him slumped and resting his head in his hands in exhaustion.

“I won’t let it… I'll find some way to reverse this, ok?” Dean's voice was hardly above a whisper as if he was trying to convince himself rather than his brother. “Whatever it takes.”

“Dean, it's ok.” Sam ran his hand over Dean's head and down his neck to his left shoulder, letting it rest there. “I know. I trust you.”

Dean shook his head. “Much good that’s done you. Fuck. I should have thrown that stupid jar. I should have checked what possible effects it could have before...”

“Dean, stop. It's not your fault.” Dean’s obvious worry was making his stomach twist. “Come on, Dean. Will you please look at me?”

Dean gave a short hysteric laugh. “How do you know I'm not?”

“Blind, not deaf. Dean, you need sleep. What time is it anyway?”

“Don't know. Noon?”

“Jesus, Dean. Get your ass into bed now.”

“But...”

Something Dean had said earlier suddenly resurfaced Sam's brain and he frowned. “You said other things. What other things can it cause?”

The silence was frightening.

“Just... some stuff.”

“Dean, what other things?”

“It's not important. You got a mild dose so I'm sure...”

“Dean. Cut the crap and just tell me.”

He could feel the muscles in Dean's shoulders rippling under his palm.

“Possible facial disfigurement, like from small pox. Or just, you know, small pox. Which is always fun.” Dean cleared his throat. “Up to seven years of bad luck and accidents, one for each of the sisters.”

There was a low smacking sound and Sam just knew Dean was pursing his lips and raising his eyebrows in a typical Dean 'duh' expression.

“Well yeah, sure. Stumbling around, blind like bats. Got to result in a broken neck or two. Which brings us to…” deep breath. “… the usual horrible death, if the curse is allowed to run its course.” The sound of Dean swallowing was hardly audible above Sam’s own loud heartbeat. “Well, that’s not gonna happen so we can forget about that.” Dean paused. “Yeah, and then there’s...”

He coughed but differently this time. It sounded like he was.... smiling? A small shake of his shoulder's made Sam frown.

“What? And then there’s what, Dean?”

“And...” This time he could clearly hear the grin in Dean's voice. “...then there’s the possible side effect of ‘extreme homosexual lust’.”

Sam snapped his hand away. “What!?!”

“But look, your face looks alright. No uglier than usual. So I'm sure...”

Sam couldn't help laughing but it came out more like a nervous giggle. “It turns people gay?”

“Now 'turn' indicates that you weren't before and, Samantha, I gotta tell you...”

“Dean? So not funny. You...”

Sam blinked. The black void he was in seemed to be turning, twisting and looping until he wouldn't have known which way was what if he hadn't had his feet on the ground. Where they wouldn't stay for much longer if he didn't sit down right the fuck now. He retreated a few steps until the back of his knees hit the bed and then he sank down.

“Sammy?”

“I'm ok. Just... dizzy. Everything's spinning.”

His head felt too heavy to hold upright and he toppled over onto the pillows, shivering as sweat sprung out on his skin. “It's cold.” He fumbled around, weakly reaching for the discarded sheets, but was unable to find the right end as the twisted material kept getting tangled in his legs. “Fuck. I can't even...” He swallowed in angry frustration, hating the shiver in his voice. “Wonder how long it will take me to break my fucking neck.”

“Stop it, Sammy. Not gonna break your damn neck, are you? Like I would let you off that easily.” The sheets were tugged gently from his fist. “Here, let me.”

The bed dipped as Dean sat down beside Sam and pulled the sheet and blanket over him, tugging them around Sam like he used to do when they were kids. Sam reached back, fumbling for Dean's hand in the dark. “Thanks. Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Dean squeezed his fingers and shifted on the bed until he was sitting propped up, his other hand reaching out, resting hesitantly on Sam’s head for a moment before running soothing fingers through Sam’s sweat-tangled hair. The gentle movement and comfortable silence had its effect, making Sam relax and shut out the panicked thoughts threatening to drown his mind, and he could feel himself being slowly lulled to sleep.

He’d missed this, this closeness they used to have. It brought him back ten, fifteen years, cuddling in his brother’s lap on a lumpy hotel bed, the taste of Count Chocula and ice cream in his mouth and the subdued sound of Sunday morning cartoons playing in his ears. Dean shaking with quiet laughter and hushing Sam every time he got too loud. “Sshh, Sammy. Don’t wake up dad.” Pulling the blanket closer around them, his hand unconsciously settling on Sam’s nape, fingers fiddling with his hair. More than often he’d fallen asleep like that, waking up again to the smell of coffee and the rustling of a newspaper as their father sat down to scan the headlines for signs of paranormal activities.

Suddenly the bed dipped as Dean made to move away. Sam couldn't hide the tension that instantly grabbed him, his fingers curling around Dean's hand and at once the movement stopped.

“I could...” Dean paused then took a deep breath. “Maybe I should sleep over here. Got the other bed covered in research anyway.”

Sam swallowed, feeling small and stupid, but it still didn't keep him from nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”

“Ok. Just gonna get out of these jeans and brush my teeth and I’ll be right back.”

The bed dipped again, Dean's hand slipping from his fingers and he was left staring into the dark, trying to keep himself calm by listening to the routine sounds of his brother preparing for bed. He'd heard them a million times before but he'd never paid attention to them, not really.

Clothes being removed and laid out on a chair, ready in case they had to be grabbed quickly. Bare feet making hardly any sound at all as they crossed the floor. Water running and the sound of teeth being brushed. Rinsing, spitting. Drinking. Tap turned off. A slight pause and then the door was closed. Toilet lid lifted. Sam blushed as the muffled sound of pee rushing into the bowl reached him. It felt like he was eavesdropping and he suddenly had an image of Dean standing with closed eyes, dick in his hand, a look of relieved pleasure on his face as the pressure eased from his bladder.

A soft groan could be heard from behind the locked door and Sam rolled over on his other side, reciting Latin under his breath as he tried to give his brother at least a shot at privacy. When Dean returned and slipped under the covers, yawning loudly, his skin was slightly chilled and he smelled of Colgate and soap. There was a grunt and some shuffling as Dean puffed up the pillows and tried to get comfortable and then he lay still, breathing softly against Sam's neck.

“Just don't hump my leg, ok?”

Sam chuckled, grateful for Dean's attempt at humor despite the fact that Sam's whole world had just gone black and what if he never got better and Christ, fucking smallpox? Not to mention... yeah, well.

He bit his lip to keep from smiling, turned over on his back and nudged Dean playfully. “I don't know, man. Gay or not, how am I supposed to know you from a girl when it's so dark?”

He yelped when Dean's elbow stabbed his ribs. “Dude, if you don't know the difference you shouldn't be doing anything in the first place.”

“What difference?” Sam groped around, trying to keep back the grin as Dean squirmed and swore under his tickling fingers. “I can't feel any difference. Ok, not much in the boobs department but...”

His wrists were seized and pinned at the headboard, Dean's panting breath brushing his face. “Sam, I don't care how blind you are, if you don't lie still and shut the fuck up I'll fucking tie you up and gag you.”

“Again with the dirty fantasies, bro. Which one of us was supposed to turn gay again?”

He laughed as Dean let him go with a frustrated growl. They lay still panting for a while and then Sam rolled over on his side, slinging an arm over Dean's waist and burying his face in his neck, like he used to do when they were kids. “Wish I could see you.”

Dean tensed briefly but then he went slack again, his fingers returning to run soothingly through Sam's hair. “To be sure I'm not a girl?”

Sam shook his head, his nose bumping into Dean's ear. “To be sure that... To be sure.”

Dean's hand stilled before slowly resuming his stroking. “Yeah. Me too, Sammy. Me too.”

Sleep was crawling into Sam's bones, making him feel heavy and sluggish. He started to withdraw his arm, mumbling a “Sorry” as he knew it was probably suffocating Dean with its weight but Dean stopped him by laying warm fingers on his wrist, then slipping them into Sam's palm with a reassuring pressure. “It's all right.”

For some reason that made his eyes water and he squeezed them shut, hoping Dean didn't notice as he shifted a bit closer. “Night, Dean.”

Dean huffed. “It's about one pm. Not exactly night.”

“I wouldn't know.”

Silence.

“It's a lousy day anyway. Grey skies and rain. You're not missing anything.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They both ignored the sounds of happy birds chirping outside the window.


	2. Chapter 2

When he woke up it was to his stomach growling and his bladder threatening to disrupt. Again it took him a few moments to remember, one, why it was so dark when he could clearly hear birds singing and, two, why he was tangled up in his brother's limbs. The first realization filled him with the old fear that he quickly suppressed, the second with a sad sense of nostalgia. It had been years since they slept like this, curled up on a narrow bed, the sound of their father cleaning his guns lulling them to sleep. He turned his head, wishing he could see Dean's face but settling for the warm breath on his cheek instead. 

The headache had been reduced to a dull pounding but his head still felt heavy and filled with cotton. Actually his whole body felt heavy, his limbs aching from the fever he could feel burning in his bones and flesh, and licking his skin. His mouth was dry, his breath gurgling through layers of phlegm. He smelled of rancid sweat and sickness. It was a wonder Dean had stood to sleep next to him. He must have been more exhausted than Sam thought.

Dean’s left arm lay heavily across Sam’s chest, one leg thrown in between Sam’s. When Sam moved slowly on his side to face him, Dean sighed and buried his nose into Sam’s neck as his arm slid down to Sam’s waist, tightening his hold. He mumbled something unintelligible and nudged his knee further in between Sam’s thighs before going slack again. Soon the room was filled with the sound of quiet snoring. Sam lay absolutely still, his palm sweating where he’d laid it on Dean’s hip, about to nudge him awake. This was more important than any bathroom break and for the longest time he stayed still, breathing in the close presence of Dean, the way he hadn’t done in years.

The smell of Colgate had faded from Dean’s breath, the soft soap fragrance already replaced by the distinct scent of Just Dean. A blend of leather and car seat and gun oil. Of cheap beer and fries and coffee. Together it spelled Family and Home. It held every memory Sam kept close to his heart, and quite a few he wished he didn’t. The first year he was at Stanford he used to wake up in the middle of the night, reaching out mentally for Dean’s presence and hating himself for the lump forming in his throat when he realized he wasn’t there, the ghost of Dean’s scent disintegrating as the dream that had brought it faded away. 

Then, as time passed, other scents became home. Jess’ sun-scented hair tickling his nose, the musky scent of her body as they made love, her chocolate chip cookies burning as he fucked her up against the kitchen counter. 

Home, but never family. Maybe with time it would have become but to tell the truth, he wasn’t so sure. Not anymore. 

Not like this.

Sam couldn’t help thinking that being blind and feverish and weak as a kitten was almost worth it, for the chance of being this close to Dean again, if only for a short time. Even if they’d pretty much stopped sleeping in the same bed once Sam hit puberty and started to grow so fast he could almost hear his bones stretching, he’d often wished he could go back to the time where Dean’s arms were the safest place he knew. The change from childhood to adolescence was scary and confusing enough without the ghosts and monsters and he’d hated when Dean had judged him too big to be cuddled. Maybe he should have gotten sick more often.

After a while the need to pee became overwhelming and he slowly disengaged himself from Dean's embrace, rolling over on his other side and sitting up slowly. His legs shook as he stood and he took several deep breaths to try and stop swaying. He tried to remember the lay of the room but it was hard since they'd only had time to dump the rest of their gear there before heading into the woods. He knew which way the bathroom lay but he'd have to walk around the bed in order to get there. So simple, and yet... 

Sam fumbled around for his clothes but gave up after a few moments when he couldn't find them anywhere within reach. Fuck it, he needed a shower anyway. Slowly, leaning over with one hand running along the edge of the bed, he made his way to the end of it. There he straightened up and turned left. One, two steps, and then his foot hit something lying on the floor. He flailed around in panic, trying to grab for the bed but ended up sprawled on the floor instead, something hard and sharp digging into his hip and his wrist buckling underneath him. 

“Sammy? Shit! You ok?”

He wanted to push Dean away, his cheeks burning with humiliation as tears of pain and anger slipped out from under his eyelids. But Dean's warm and familiar hand on his thigh, his strong arm around his shoulders were such a comfort in the utter and terrifying darkness that he fumbled until he could grab a hold on Dean's shoulders, clinging to him like an infant.

“Dean.”

“It's ok. I got you.” Dean held him tight, stroking his back in soothing circles. “I got you.”

“I hate this! I just want to fucking pee!” He'd laugh if he weren’t so damn scared.

Dean didn't laugh either for which Sam was eternally grateful. “Come on, I'll help you.”

He held Sam's hand, his other arm slipping around his waist and then he hauled Sam to his feet. “This way. Easy.” They moved slowly across the floor and into the bathroom where Dean put Sam's hand on top of the toilet. “Here. It's better if you sit down. You want to take a shower after? You should. You really stink, bro.” 

“Ye-eah.” Sam's voice shook along with his whole body. “But you don't have to...”

“Dude, I'm the one who has to live with you. I'm doing this for me.” Dean's hand rested on Sam's hip for a second before suddenly slapping his ass. “Or I could always give you a sponge bath?”

“Dean!” Sam swung around, which wasn’t too clever considering the questionable laws of gravity fighting in his head, but he managed to keep from falling over and instead glared at what he hoped was Dean's face. “Keep your dirty hands away from my... things.”

The only answer he got was Dean's laughter moving out the door.

“Dickhead.” He smiled and turned back, reaching out until he found the top of the toilet again and ran his hand down to the seat, flipping it open. It felt weird, sitting down to pee, and for a moment he contemplated just doing it standing up anyway, if only for the pleasure of having Dean mopping up the mess. Instead he pulled down his boxers and sat slowly down, feeling too tired to worry much about the fact that he was peeing like a girl. Except...

“If that's the camera you're holding I'm going to stand up right now and pee on your feet.”

Silence. Then he heard a click and the sound of something small landing softly on the bed. “I wouldn't do that to you, Sammy. What do you think I am?”

“My brother?”

“Well...” There was a pause. “You've got a point there.” The shower curtain rustled and then the water was turned on. “You getting done there or you need to take a crap as well?”

“Fuck you.” Sam reached down to shake the few drops lingering, and the fact that he didn't know if Dean was watching or not suddenly made him feel incredibly self-conscious. “If the water is your usual hot-as-hell I'm gonna kick your ass.”

He stood up, swayed, straightened up, flushed, toed his boxers in the general direction of the door and then took a few steps toward the sound of the running water. Dean grabbed his outstretched hand with a hoarse “Get your ass in here” and pulled him under the perfectly adjusted heat. 

“This ok?” His voice was back to being gentle, if slightly rough, and Sam nodded gratefully. His head felt heavy, his limbs sluggish and limp with fever.

“Yeah. It's... good. Thanks.” 

He closed his eyes and lifted his head to rest his chin on top of Dean's bowed head, one hand braced against the wall while the other clutched Dean's shoulder. It felt oddly comfortable, standing so close together in nothing but their skin, only separated by water and steam and the darkness. Maybe that was what made it not awkward, like the dark clothed them, making it ok for once to touch in other ways than shoving each other around or being all macho. Then he remembered that Dean could see just fine. Which was… a tiny bit awkward but Dean didn’t seem to mind so he guessed it was all right. 

He hadn’t really noticed how distant they’d been with each other since Dean came to get him from Stanford; being too bundled up in his own grief and anger to care about much else. But the few moments of closeness his illness had brought on suddenly made it all the more obvious and he felt his chest tighten. God, how he’d missed this. The way they’d cuddle up together on the bed while watching TV. How they’d wrestle until they got tired and just lay on the grass, still tangled up in each other arms, Sam listening to Dean telling stories of monsters and his own bravery. The way Dean always seemed to know when Sam was feeling sad or scared, seeking out his hand to hold across the backseat of dad’s car. The way he’d crawl into Sam’s bed at night to hold him when the storms got too loud or the water dripping in the bathroom echoed in the darkness, bringing up visions of horrible water demons or dripping blood. And apparently, even if he couldn’t remember much of it, Dean had been the one to help him breathe through his panic as fear of the dark overwhelmed him. Not that it surprised him. For as long as Sam could remember Dean had always been there, ready to catch him or protect him, from whatever might happen. Shielding Sam from the truth as well as the lies, listening to his dreams and waking him up from his nightmares. 

Things had changed, as they’d gotten older. Dean got more distant, more grown up, and Sam… Sam got angry. At everything. He realized now that he’d taken out his frustration with their whole life on his brother without meaning to. That by cursing his lot in life, he’d practically been cursing Dean. Dean never said anything but he didn’t really have to. It was obvious in the way he withdrew further and further away, keeping his distance as if that would make the words hurt less. Sam stopped telling Dean about his dreams and Dean stopped holding Sam when he woke him up from his nightmares. They grew up and for some reason that meant growing apart. 

Dean would call it emo’ing but Sam couldn’t help thinking that, in that aspect, growing up really sucked. 

The memories flashed by his worn out brain and he shivered slightly, tightening his hold on Dean’s shoulder. The warm water was softening whatever muscles he had left working and he could feel himself starting to sway again. 

Dean shifted, laying a palm on Sam's chest to steady him. “You ok there, Sammy?”

“Ye-eah. Just... weak.” 

He shuddered as he tried to draw a deep breath, hating the way his voice shook from weakness and the effort of keeping awake, not to mention upright. The steam should have helped clear his breathing but it only made the air heavier, thicker in his throat, and he gave up, settling for shallow breaths of damp air. His right knee gave way for a second and Dean pushed him up again, groaning softly under the weight. 

“Christ, you're heavy. All those granola bars are catching up on you. Health food, my ass.” Dean sighed then chuckled as Sam's stomach growled loud and clear. “Dude, I think your gut is trying to tell you something.” 

Sam frowned. “We haven't eaten since... when was it again?” 

“Can't remember.” Dean shifted again, one hand leaving Sam's chest, and then the smell of soap filled Sam's nostrils as Dean lathered his burning skin with slow circle movements. “I'll go get us something from that diner we passed yesterday.”

Sam's hand clenched into a fist on Dean's shoulder and the slow stroking stopped instantly.

“Sam?”

“I'm-I'm ok. Just... Fuck, this is stupid.”

“What?”

“I don't... It's... I feel nervous about being left alone while you go out, ok?” He laughed shakily, gasping for air. “Haven't felt this helpless since... since the first time you and dad left me alone to go hunting. It's like I'm nine again and waiting in the dark for you to come home.”

“Sam...”

He shook his head. “I'm ok. I'm just being stupid. Not a kid anymore, right?”

Silence. 

Dean's hand moved around to Sam's back, soaping the tense muscles in soothing circles, his voice quiet when he spoke. “We were gone for two days then. I'm just gonna be ten minutes. Fifteen, tops.”

“I know! Just... Forget I said anything.”

“Here.” 

The soap was thrust into Sam's hand and he finished washing, feeling oddly at ease doing such an intimate thing with Dean bracing him against the cold tiles. Not like there was any part of him Dean hadn’t seen before and even if it wasn’t quite the same he didn’t feel embarrassed. To tell the truth he probably would only have felt gratitude if Dean had done it for him. He felt closer now to Dean than he had in years and even though this was what it had taken he couldn’t help thinking it was in some ways worth it. He’d swap a few days of sight for the opportunity to bond with his brother any day. 

When he held the soap out again Dean took it from his hand, briefly releasing the pressure on Sam's chest. He tried to stand straight but before he knew it he was again leaning against Dean, his wet skin like silk against his own, the muscles moving strong and warm underneath. Sam suddenly childishly wished they could just stay like this, could forget curses and ghosts and people bursting into flames and just… be safe. 

Maybe it was the fever, making him feel so weak, softening his heart along with his body. Whatever it was he suddenly felt overwhelmed with emotions, his throat tightening and his breath hitching. Closing his eyes, Sam put one arm across his brother’s shoulders and pulled him closer, his head dropping heavily until it rested in the crook of Dean’s neck. He wanted to mumble Dean’s name, over and over again, so Dean would understand how much this meant to him, how much Dean meant to him. Instead he settled for feeling Dean’s steady pulse pounding against his cheek. Dean seemed to freeze for a moment and then one arm slipped around Sam’s back, hugging him. 

“Sammy, it’s gonna be alright.”

Sam swallowed. “Yeah. Yeah, ok.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Things already have.”

He instantly regretted his words as Dean stiffened, knowing he’d taken them personally, as if he’d let things happen to Sam. As if he had killed their mother and Jess, and now had caused this. Sam tried to find something to say, to fix it, but his brain was so muddled and all he could come up with was: 

“I’m just scared. I didn’t mean…”

“I know. It’s ok.”

But it wasn’t. He felt like a total asshole. And so very, very tired. He wanted to weep. “I… I don’t know what I’d do without you, Dean. I mean that. And if we can’t reverse this I want you to know-“

The gentle slap at the back of his head shut him up instantly. “Are you kidding me? Sam, seriously, shut up. I’m not gonna have a Hallmark moment standing naked in the shower with my brother, ok? Jeez!”

Dean shook his head in exasperation, muttering curses under his breath, and Sam couldn’t help laughing, even if it sounded half-hysterical. After some shifting Dean started rubbing Sam’s hair, this time filling the small space with the smell of his herbal shampoo. 

“Anyway…” The emo moment had obviously been deemed over. “We could just order in.”

“Yeah, right.” Sam would have rolled his eyes but for one thing they felt pretty numb and besides bubbles of shampoo were starting to run down his face along with warm water so he just closed them instead. “Rule number five hundred and fifty six:” He spit out soapy water that slipped into his mouth. “'Never invite strangers to your home, boys. That includes pizza delivery, Sam, and I don't care how hungry you were.'” He sucked in breath, the effort of deepening his voice leaving his throat sore.

He could feel Dean smiling against his collarbone while his fingers rubbed the soap out of Sam's long hair. “You have them numbered? You’re such a geek, Sam.”

“I have everything numbered. You should see my 'Bullshit Dean Pulls' list. It's very long.”

Dean snorted. “Better not be longer than the 'Reasons Why I Love My Brother' list.”

Sam smiled but his hold on Dean's shoulder tightened slightly. “No. Not nearly as long as that one.” 

Dean stilled, then his hands slid down Sam's shoulder and down to his chest. “Think that is as clean as you're gonna get.” His voice was slightly hoarse and he cleared his throat. “Can you lean against the wall while I get the towels?” 

“Ye-eah, I think so.”

The water turned off and then cool air licked his wet skin when Dean brushed the curtain aside. Sam shivered and tried to concentrate on keeping his knees locked and not sliding down the cool tiles.

“Come on. Better get your pretty ass out of there before you fall over.” 

The arm around Sam's waist held tight but Sam could still feel the slight tremble in Dean's hand, resting on his hip as he hung onto Dean's shoulders. He was sat down on the toilet again, his heavy head falling forward to rest on Dean's stomach. It gave a slight shake under his forehead, muscles rippling underneath the wet skin before turning hard and tense.

“Dean?”

The towel drying his back stilled. “Yeah?” 

Dean's voice sounded cautious and Sam hesitated. “Nothing.”

The relieved breath was hardly audible. “Whatever, dude.”

 

Soon Sam was lying in bed again, wearing what he hoped were clean boxers, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead. He felt as limp as boiled spaghetti and just turning his head was a struggle. He could hear Dean moving around the room, the sound of cloth sliding over skin, a zipper running up, the soft creaking of leather. Metal against metal as a gun was cocked, and then fingers flipping paper. Money. The bed next to him squeaked and he envisioned Dean leaning over to tug on his boots. Then silence.

“I won't be long.” Dean’s voice was low, worried.

“I'm all right, Dean. Really.” He tried for a careless laugh. “I'll probably fall asleep before you close the door. Just wake me up when you get back, ok?”

“Yeah. Sure.” 

The bed creaked again and heavy steps crossed the room to the door. Only to turn back and then soft lips were pressed against Sam's forehead. “I'll be right back.” And like that Dean was gone, leaving Sam with a lump in his throat and a nervous flutter in his stomach. 

He strained his ears, listening until the rumble from the Impala died away in the distance. Everything went quiet. Then one by one the disturbed birds started chirping again and if he closed his eyes he could imagine that it was just another day, lazing in a motel room with nothing to do but watch TV (or not), read (damn), or jerk off (well...). 

He began to reach down but his hand gave up halfway, falling limp and useless by his thigh. Not that there was anything happening down below anyway. He snorted at his own pathetic state. The sound echoed in the empty room and he could feel his heartbeat picking up. He felt unnervingly vulnerable. Not only couldn't he see a damn thing, but he was totally bereft of strength. The simple act of taking a shower, even aided, had been enough to drain him of all energy. If anyone, or anything, came through that door with malicious intent he wouldn't be able to do any more than curse at it. 

What if Dean didn't find a cure? What if this blindness was permanent and he'd be like this, trapped in this utter darkness for the rest of his life? And how short would that life be, considering what was out there? And Dean... Dean wouldn't leave him. Dean would stay with him until either the curse killed him or being cooped up with nothing to do but take care of his invalid brother drove Dean insane. 

Sam could feel tears stinging behind his eyelids and he angrily turned over on his other side, burying his face in the pillow. It smelled of Dean, his skin and hair and sweet breath. Sam inhaled the scent, hiccoughing as a sob tried to force its way out. The realization that he was crying into his brother's pillow only made him angrier and he growled in frustration. _'Get a hold of yourself. Stop this pathetic pity party you're throwing yourself, you goddamn pussy.'_ For some reason the voice in his head sounded a lot like Dean's and Sam bit down the hysteric laughter threatening to burst out. Maybe he was losing his mind. Maybe that was another side effect Dean had failed to mention. Maybe... 

The darkness suddenly felt threatening, charged with evil energy. He reached out, fumbling for the knife Dean always kept under his pillow. It wasn’t there. His heart jumped, then proceeded to speed on until he thought it would burst out of his chest. There was something in the room, breathing. He could feel it, hovering over him, and he was paralyzed with fear. His lungs seemed to be shrinking, until he was sucking in air in shallow painful gaps. How long had Dean been gone? Ten minutes? Five? He was all alone with whatever was just about to…

Something touched his shoulder and he struck out with all his strength. He hit something... someone… and there was a loud crash as whatever it was fell over.

“Goddammit!”

“Dean? Dean!” He sat up, gasping for air, his chest hurting from the pounding of his heart. There was a shuffle and a groan and something warm splattered on Sam's cheek. No! “Dean!”

“Yeah, yeah. Crap. I've got coffee all over my shirt! Shit.”

Coffee. Not blood, coffee. He wanted to cry in relief. “I didn't hear you. I thought you were...” His voice broke. “Sorry. Did I... Did it burn you?”

“Some. Fuck, Sam. I told you it was me.”

“I didn't hear you,” he repeated lamely. He must have fallen asleep. “I'm sorry. I... Dean, you ok?”

“We need to do laundry.” A wet palm came to rest on his forehead, the bed dipping under Dean's weight as he sat down. “Crap, your fever is spiking again.” 

Dean's thumb rubbed at Sam's temple and he closed his eyes, leaning into the touch until he rested his head against his brother's shoulder. Dean had ditched the shirt, his skin damp with the smell of coffee. 

“Sorry. About the coffee and...” Sam waved his hand weakly, “... you know.” 

“Don't worry about it.”

An arm came around Sam's shoulders, hovering hesitantly before tightening into a hug, and again the rare show of affection shoved the lump back into his throat, bigger than before. He swallowed and put his arm around Dean’s waist, making a weak attempt at hugging Dean back. 

Dean chuckled softly. “Dude, you’re weak as a kitten. Need to get some food into you.” He let go of Sam to lean over, picking something up from the floor. “I bought you a bran muffin to ease your conscience and some real food to give you your strength back.”

“Real food being...?” But he knew the answer already, the tantalizing smell making his mouth water.

“Burger and fries.”

Sam licked his lips. “You can keep the muffin. Want junk food.”

Dean gasped theatrically. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

“Shut up. I'm sick. Gimme fries.”

Dean shuffled up until they were sitting side by side with their legs stretched out on the bed before handing Sam his burger, placing the bag of fries between his own knees. Despite his hunger Sam only managed a few bites before putting the burger aside on the bedside table. He reached over and picked a handful of fries out of the bag and started eating them one by one, so slowly that when he bit into the last one it was cold and tasteless. The blackness was once again playing with his head, making him feel like he was constantly falling forward and he leaned against Dean for support, head again falling on his shoulder. 

“Thanks.”

“You should eat more.”

“Maybe later.”

He closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Dean eating. A tiny click in his jaw, teeth grinding against teeth, tongue licking salt and ketchup off his lips. The rustling of the paper bag, Coke fizzing in his throat as he swallowed it down. He breathed in the smell of sunshine and diner grease underneath the bittersweet smell of coffee. 

“I called dad.”

Sam lifted his head with an effort, staring at what he hoped was Dean's eyes. “What? You talked to him?”

“Voicemail.” Dean shrugged but Sam could hear the tension in his voice. “The usual. If he can he'll call back.”

“Like he did the other times?”

The tension rolled of Dean in waves, so strong Sam thought he could feel it vibrate the air around them. “Sam, don't.”

Anger gave him enough energy to sit up, clenching his hands into fists. “You know I called him that time you were... were fucking dying, Dean! He didn't... He never even called back!”

“This is different.”

“Why? Because it's me?” The silence was answer enough. “Dean, you or me... he doesn't care.”

“Don't say that.”

“Why not? It's true. You know it's true.” Sam gritted his teeth. “It’s all about the hunt with him, about that fucking demon.”

“Shut up, Sam. He cares, ok? He cares, Sammy. He...” Dean stopped, drawing in a shaky breath. “He's got to care.”

Sam wasn’t sure whether he wanted to punch Dean or hug him. “Why? ‘Cause he's our dad? ‘Cause-?”

“Because if he doesn't care and you don't get better I don't know what I'll do, ok? So he cares and you'll get better and that's the way it's gonna be.” Dean stood up abruptly, tossing the bag of fries in Sam's lap. “I need to make some more calls. Eat and then get some rest.”

“Dean...”

“Sam.” Dean sounded exhausted and Sam once again wished he could see him even if he knew Dean was probably running his hand over his face, eyes closed in exasperation. “Do as I say for once, alright?”

Sam put the bag of fries on the bed and swung his legs over the side. He stood up slowly, refusing to give into the exhaustion and weakness pulling him downwards as he steadied himself with a hand upon the bed and gazed in the direction of Dean's voice. “I'll get better. And it’s got nothing to do with dad or whether he cares or not.” 

“Sammy...”

He took a step forward, letting go of the bed and stretching his arms to his sides to try and keep his balance. It was harder than it should be and he could feel the fear creeping up on him again. 

“I've got you, right? You... you'll figure it out, I know you will.” 

He took a few steps further. The bedspread brushed against his left knee, a few birds were still chirping outside the window to his right, the smell of fries and spilled coffee was right under his nose. He reached slowly out, his fingers bumping into smooth skin a few inches in front of him, and he flattened his palm, laying it on Dean's warm chest. He could feel Dean’s heart beating under his fingers, a bit faster than usual, and Sam wished he could take his words back. Why could he never keep his mouth shut? 

“If dad doesn't... it's ok. I've got you, Dean. Right?”

He could feel the ribcage expanding and contracting under the soft skin and then a warm palm was splayed over Sam’s heart. “You've got me, Sammy.” Dean's voice was raw, the words half-choked. “No matter what.”

“I know.” 

They stood still for a while just breathing and then Sam blinked. “Huh. This is either turning into a chick-flick moment, us gazing into each others eyes, or you’re just about to tell me to stop being such a girl and slap my head. Except...” He fumbled with his other hand until he found Dean's shoulder and grabbed it hard. “I'm not really gazing, am I? And if you slap me I think I’ll fall on my ass.” 

“Not gonna slap you, Sammy.” Dean moved closer, the heat of his skin brushing against Sam’s and then his forehead came to rest on Sam’s shoulder. “And I think this warrants a chick-flick moment, just this once.” There was no smile in Dean’s voice, his breath shallow and warm against Sam’s collarbone.

Sam’s breath hitched. “Ok. Ok.” His hot skin felt raw and sensitive, picking up every molecule of Dean’s breath, the light sweeping of Dean’s eyelashes brushing it as he blinked, the slight shiver in Dean’s fingers were they rested over Sam’s heart. God, this was…

Everything began spinning. A throbbing suddenly started and quickly escalated between his eyes and he locked his fingers into Dean’s shoulders, holding on for dear life as the world crashed around him.

“Sammy? Sam!”

Strong arms came around his chest, catching him just as his knees buckled. With some effort they stumbled toward the bed and Sam half-fell, half-sat down, still clinging to his brother's tense shoulders. Something warm and squishy flattened under him and he too late remembered the bag of fries he'd left there. 

“Fuck, Dean. The-the frie-.” 

That was all he managed before everything disappeared.


	3. Chapter 3

He woke up to a silent room and would have called out in panic if he wasn't having a hard time just breathing. The air felt thick and warm, threatening to get stuck in his throat, and the drenched sheets clung to his hot and sweat-slick skin. His head was filled with various nightmares, going from feeling as if he was drowning in tar and to being pinned to the ceiling as his body burned, looking down at Dean as he screamed his name. He shuddered at the memory, and it brought out goosebumps on his whole body.

“De-ean?”

He tried to sit up but all he managed was raising his head a few inches before it fell back on his pillow, his fingers curling weakly as he tried to raise his arms.

“De-?”

The cough that shook his body filled his throat with phlegm and he panicked, wheezing in air and fighting to cough his throat clear.

“I'm here. I'm right here, Sammy.”

An arm slipped under his shoulders and raised him up and he coughed violently until his throat finally cleared, then spat into the wad of paper held against his lips. It hurt to breathe, in fact it hurt all over. “Dean?”

“It's ok.” The tone of his brother's voice was soothing but there was a shiver to it that scared Sam more than whatever it was that was happening. “Just a few more days now, Sammy. Just hang on.”

“Wha-?” His throat was filling up again, air making a wheezing sound as it forced its way through the tight windpipe. “De-ean, wha-?” He coughed again, gagging at the slimy glue on his tongue.

“It's ok, Sammy. Remember, dad said it'd take seven days for the symbols to drive the curse out.”

Sam turned his head, blind eyes staring in the direction of the voice. “Da-ad?”

Dean brushed the damp hair out if his face, then laid his hand on Sam's cheek. It trembled. “Yeah, he called. Don't you remember?”

The fever clawed at his skin and he started to shake violently. He reached out with trembling fingers to grab Dean’s t-shirt, clinging to it in fear as he tried to suck in air, but the more he struggled the harder it got and he could feel his head getting lighter as everything started to spin. “De-!”

“Sammy, just lie back and try to breathe normally. You're gonna be ok. Everything's gonna be fine.”

Sam might have believed him if Dean's voice hadn't shaken so badly. He started panicking as the lack of oxygen made his throat burn and pressure build up in the back of his head. “I ca-!” He shook with the effort of trying to breathe, the shallow gasps making him jerk against Dean until his eyes rolled back in his skull. “DE-!”

“Come on, Sammy. Come on!” He jerked forward as his back was slapped hard, again and again. “Don’t do this!! Don’t fucking do this! Not again. Sammy! No!”

His head was exploding from the pressure and he clawed at Dean’s arm as he was suddenly pushed down on the bed, one heavy hand holding the back of his head pressed down into the pillow.

“I love you, little brother. Ok? Ok?” Dean’s voice was raw, holding Sam’s head down as he struggled to free himself. “You fucking remember that, Sammy. Remember that!”

Sam tried again to cough but there was no air in his lungs and all he managed was a low rattle. His body went limp as the last bit of strength escaped him and just like that he knew he was dying. Everything went bright, the pain and fear drained away, leaving him feeling light and free and his only wish was that he could tell Dean that he loved him too. So much, Dean. More than you will ever know. More than…

Suddenly he felt a sharp sting and tiny bubbles of air burned their way into his windpipe. The pain returned tenfold and he wanted to cry with disappointment.

“Oh God. Fuck. Jesus help me. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I don’t know…” Dean’s nose pressed into Sam’s cheek, warm and wet against his fevered skin. “I love you more than anything. You and me, Sammy. You and me!” The voice broke, Dean’s chest heaving with sobs. “Don't you fucking leave me, Sam. You hear me? Don’t you dare leaving me!”

The darkness swallowed him again.

\------------

It was strange how natural it seemed, despite everything, to wake up to the sun shining in through the split in the curtains covering the windows. Sam opened his eyes and blinked sleepily against the brightness in the room. For a moment he wondered if it had all been a dream but he still felt exhausted, practically drained of all energy. There wasn’t a single part of his body that didn’t feel sore and his head throbbed with a dull headache. The bed next to him was empty but when he tried to move he felt the weight of Dean's arm slung over his waist. Carefully Sam shifted until he managed to turn over and onto his other side.

He wasn't sure how long it had really been but it felt like he hadn't seen his brother's face in years and now he wanted nothing more then to watch him for hours. Dean was fast asleep, dark shadows painted on the grey skin under his eyes. Unshaven and with ruffled greasy hair, sweat clinging to his temples and dotting his upper lip. A trail of dried up saliva running down his chin. It was the most beautiful sight in the world.

The possibility that he might never have been able to see Dean’s face again suddenly hit him. His grin, his glare, his rare happy smile. That mischievous glint he got in his eye that spelled trouble. The silent look he gave Sam when he thought he wasn't looking that said 'I'm here. I'll take care of you.' The even quieter one that said 'Please don't leave me.' The way his hair stuck up, the shadow of his eyelashes on his cheeks, the soft curves of his lips.

His lips.

As through a haze Sam remembered those lips kissing him. His forehead and temple then his cheek and finally his lips. Warm and taut and tasting of salt. Desperate. Pressing against his again and again between murmured words of comfort and pleading. Then resting against his cheek as strong arms, holding him so hard he couldn’t breathe, shook with quiet weeping. And then later, much later, he remembered those lips kissing his fingers as Pater Nostri was whispered brokenly into his clutched hand, over and over until the words slurred and finally quieted when Sam drifted off.

With a shiver Sam realized he really must have been on the brink of dying, for Dean to lose it like that. Dean might be ready to give up his own life whenever Death decided to claim him but Sam dying was a whole different matter, and always had been. Sam had a feeling that if he really had died Dean would have gone through hell and high water to bring him back to life. And when that failed… Sam couldn’t finish that thought but the taste of metal and gun oil still hit the back of his tongue.

Swallowing the lump in his throat Sam leaned forward and without hesitation kissed Dean softly on the lips.

Dean didn't wake up, just mumbled something that sounded like 'yeah' before kissing Sam back, tightening his arm around his waist. Then he buried his nose into Sam’s shoulder and continued snoring. Sam lay still, watching him, memorizing every inch of Dean's face, until his eyelids started drooping and he couldn't fight the lure of sleep no more.

\-----------------

“Hey.”

Sam yawned before opening his eyes, blinking against the light. Dean’s face was inches away from his own, green eyes watching him worriedly.

“Hey there.” Sam’s voice was hoarse and talking hurt his throat but none of that mattered. He blinked again and smiled softly. “I can see you.”

The smile that broke out on Dean’s face was exquisite, the corners of his eyes crinkling in happy wrinkles. “God, Sammy…” Dean’s voice shook and he stopped, taking a deep breath before continuing. “Thought you were gonna give up on me there, buddy.”

“Yeah, me too.” Sam swallowed and winced from the sharp pain. “Ow. My throat hurts.”

Dean gave a happy snort. “Yeah? That might be the hole I had to punch through it.”

Sam blinked. “What?” He moved his hand up to feel his throat. There was a thick dressing right below his Adam’s apple. “Wow. I didn’t know you knew how to do that.”

“Me neither. Good thing I watch E.R. By the way, you owe me a new pen.”

“Jesus, Dean!” Sam ran his fingers again over the bandage. “Don’t tell me it’s still in there.”

“Nah. Took it out yesterday once I managed to suck your throat clean and it stopped filling up again.” At the disgusted look on Sam’s face Dean laughed and reached out to brush his brother’s hair back. “Dude, you owe me so many beers for this.”

Sam shook his head. “Think I owe you a lot more than that, Dean.”

Dean actually blushed and looked away. “Yeah, well. No big deal.”

“No, Dean. It’s a huge deal.” Sam tried to sit up but he was still too weak and fell back on the pillow after a few seconds of hovering. “And I’ll pay you back in all ways possible as soon as I can move again. But until then…”

He reached out and cupped his brother’s cheek, ignoring the confused look in Dean’s eyes. He brushed his thumb over the cheekbones before letting his fingers run to the back of Dean’s neck, pulling him closer.

“What are you…?”

Dean’s lips felt warm against his own, hard with shock for a second before they suddenly softened and kissed him back. It was warm and soft and all the things he’d imagined. Sam could feel a tremble run through Dean’s body and then his left hand came up to clutch Sam’s arm as he ran his tongue over Sam’s lips, slipping in as they parted with a soft sigh. Just for a brief moment and then Dean pulled back, his eyes wide and black.

“We can’t… Fuck, Sam, no! Why did you-?” He shuddered and closed his eyes. “God. Oh God.”

“I remember you kissing me. When I was…” Sam swallowed. “When you thought I was dying. And… And it made me realize… You’ve been wanting to but…” He took a deep breath. “Dean, you only did it because you thought it was the last chance you had.”

Dean shook his head. “God, Sam. Christ. It’s not…” He shuddered again and the mask of denial fell away from his face as it crumbled. “Jesus, Sam, I’m so fucking sorry. I never meant to… I had no right.”

“You had every right, Dean. Every fucking right.” Sam grabbed Dean’s shoulder and shook him until he opened his eyes again, staring at Sam with such guilt and sorrow Sam thought his heart would break. “I’m the one who… I should have seen it. I should have known.”

“Known what?” Dean’s laugh was harsh and desperate. “That I’m sick? That I want to… God!” He suddenly scrambled out of bed, grasping for his clothes. “This isn’t happening. We’re not doing this. I’m going out.”

Sam struggled to sit up, failing once again despite the adrenaline rushing through his veins, and he fell back on the pillows, his breath hitching. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you fucking dare walking out that door when I can’t follow you. Dean!”

Dean stopped, hand on the doorknob. His whole body radiated tension.

“Come back here. We’re gonna talk about this.”

Dean shook his head. “I can’t.”

“I don’t care, Dean. You’re going to anyway.” His face softened. “Please.”

Dean stood still, knuckles white where they clutched the doorknob, the tendons in his neck standing out like taut rope. And then all of a sudden he slumped, his hand slipping away from the doorknob, and he turned around. His face was sickeningly grey, his eyes dull with defeat.

“Come here.”

Dean walked slowly back to the bed and at Sam’s indication sat down on the edge, eyes cast downward.

“Dean, you know I love you.” Sam sighed as his brother visibly flinched. “Will you please look at me?”

It took a moment and a few deep breaths but then Dean raised his eyes, meeting Sam’s. They gazed at each other a long time and then Sam reached for Dean’s hand where it rested beside his on the bed, lacing their fingers tight together. Dean’s hand trembled slightly and his eyes flickered like he wanted to run away as fast as he could.

“How long have you felt like this?”

Dean averted his eyes but at Sam pressing his fingers he looked back, swallowing hard. “Years. Since long before you left.”

“And you never told me.”

Dean laughed dryly. “Not exactly something you bring up at dinner, Sam. ‘Nice burgers, dad. Man, we sure showed that poltergeist today and by the way I’m in love with my brother.’” He flinched at his own words as soon as they slipped out.

Sam tightened his hold even further, rubbing his thumb along Dean’s index finger. “It’s none of dad’s business, Dean. But it’s mine, and you should have told me.”

“Why? What good could have come out of it?”

Sam watched him silently before answering. “You not having to bottle it up for so long. Me not feeling like you didn’t like me anymore when you stopped touching me.” He raised his eyebrows at Dean’s startled look. “Yeah, I noticed. I just thought you’d outgrown me, which was fucking rough because I needed you so damn much, Dean. As my brother, my friend, my… You were my whole world, Dean.”

“I couldn’t…” Dean averted his eyes again. “It was too hard, Sam. I was too close to giving in.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Why? Are you kidding me?” Dean jerked his hand free and abruptly stood up, only to sit back down again with a sigh when Sam gave him a glare, patting the bed. “Sam, I know you’ve never had a normal family life but believe me,” Dean gave a hard laugh, “that’s not something you do with your siblings. Not even when they’re as screwed up as we are.”

“Since when do you care what’s normal?”

“I care about you! I care about not… sullying you.” Dean gritted his teeth. “Fuck, Sam. Don’t you get it? I’d do anything for you not to have found out. Ever.”

Sam grabbed his hand again, rubbing his thumb soothingly over the knuckles. “I’m glad I did.”

Dean sighed and shook his head, looking more tired than Sam could remember ever seeing him. “Sam…”

“No, Dean. I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need you to shelter me. I can make my own decisions about what I want and what road to take.”

“Sam, you don’t have to…”

“Yeah well, I want to. Do you have any idea how much I missed you while I was up in Stanford? I used to dream about you, all the time. That you died, that I’d never see you again. That I’d go back and you hated me.” Sam laced their fingers together again, squeezing tight. “That one day there’d be a knock on my door and there you’d be. And you’d push me up against the wall and kiss me until I couldn’t breathe.”

Dean’s head snapped up, his eyes big and wide with shock. “What?”

“Yeah.” Sam laughed softly. “Think you’re the only one with a twisted mind? Fuck, Dean. Do you have any idea how fucking pretty you are? I’ve been having dirty fantasies about your lips since I had my first wet dream.”

Dean just stared at him, like Sam had grown two heads. The thought made him suddenly remember something and he reached up to run his hand shakily over his face. It felt rough, covered in scabs and raw skin. Fuck.

“Smallpox, huh?”

Dean swallowed, eyes slightly glazed. “It’s not so bad. I have some ointment. It shouldn’t scar…” His voice trailed of and he looked away, shoulders slumping. “Sam, it’s the spell. Remember? It said…”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I remember. But, Dean, ‘turn’ indicates I wasn’t before and, dude, I gotta tell you…”

Sam chuckled at the shocked look on his brother’s face. “Didn’t you hear what I just said? My first wet dream, man. All you. And pretty much every one since then. Sure, there were some girls, you’re not that perfect.” He laughed as Dean sniffed indignantly but then his face turned serious. “And I loved Jess, so damn much. She was all I wished I wanted. But, Dean, it’s been this,” he lifted their joined hands, “for as long as I could remember. You and me, Dean.”

Dean bit his lip, uncertainty still lingering in his eyes. “You never said anything either.”

Sam snorted. “God, Dean! I told you, you were like my hero, my everything. Still are. You said it yourself, it’s sick and wrong. I didn’t want you to hate me. I couldn’t risk that.”

Dean closed his eyes, his free hand coming up to rub his face, his body giving a brief shudder. “I would never, never, hate you, Sam. Never! God, I…” He looked up and gave a shaky laugh. “Fuck, Sammy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sam winked. “I love you too, bro.”

Dean actually giggled, then put his hand to his mouth when he realized what he’d done, eyes wide, making Sam break out in helpless laughter that had him clutching his chest and wheezing for breath.

“Fuck, don’t make me laugh, Dean. My throat hurts like hell.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry. Just…” Sam tried again to raise his head, to sit up, only to fall back down with a frustrated growl. “Dammit, Dean. Give me a hand here.”

“You shouldn’t be moving too much. You’re still too weak to…”

“Dean, will you stop mothering me and help me sit up. I’m not gonna do this lying down.”

Dean hesitated and then slid an arm under Sam’s shoulder, reluctantly, like he didn’t trust himself to touch Sam at all. “Do what?”

Sam kept stubbornly silent until he was propped up against the pillows, panting from the effort, and then he reached out and curled one hand behind Dean’s neck, pulling him close. “Kiss you.”

Dean’s eyes widened with panic and he jerked back so fast Sam fell forward with a curse. “Sam…” Dean put a hand on his chest and pushed him up again. “We can’t do this.”

“I almost died, Dean.” Sam grabbed Dean’s hand, clutching it as hard as he could in case Dean would try again to move away. “White fucking tunnel and everything. So don’t tell me what I can and can not do.”

He could see the emotions flickering in his brother’s eyes, shifting between fear and want, guilt and need. The look that said ‘You’re my brother and I’ll do anything for you’ and ‘You’re my brother! My brother, my Sammy, and I have done this to you. Me, all me. It’s all my fault.’

“Dean, please.”

Dean closed his eyes and bowed his head, his shoulders trembling with tension. “I can’t. I can’t do that to you.”

Sam reached out and cupped Dean’s face again, enveloping it in his long fingers. “We’ve had a shitty life, Dean. Our mom, our childhood, Jessica… our whole life has been nothing but one blow after another. Everything I’ve had has been taken from me. Everything but you. And I’m taking a stand on this one. I want this. I want you. And I’m not gonna let shame or guilt keep it from me.” Sam smiled softly. “You’re not doing anything _to_ me. I’m asking you to do this _with_ me. Dean, isn’t it about time we got something, just for us? Something we can have and fuck the rest of the world?”

“What if… What if it doesn’t work out like that?” Dean’s voice was rough, his lips thin. “What if it’s just some… fucking lust thing? Something I’ve wanted because I couldn’t get it. What if we do this and in a week I grow tired of you? What then?”

“Dean…”

“No. I don’t do relationships, Sam. I can’t…” Dean swallowed. “I fuck and I move on. They don’t even remember my name. I’m that guy. I’m not…”

Sam let his hand fall and sighed. “Dean, I’ve known you all my life. You’ve gotta be a pretty shitty lover if having sex with you will make me want to forget your name.”

Dean blinked. His mouth fell open and when he noticed he snapped it shut before shooting Sam a glare. “Dude, did you just call me a lousy lay?”

Sam quirked his eyebrows at him. “Did I? For all I know, all those girls? Read you poetry or something. Maybe you’re all big talk and no walk. That it, Dean? You a virgin maybe? All those stories nothing but smoke blowing out your ass?”

Dean stared at him. Then he looked away, shaking his head slightly, before raising his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips. “You are questioning my manhood? That’s… Sammy boy, you are messing with the wrong man.”

“Still talking.” Sam leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes. “Wake me up when you’re ready to do the walking part.”

He kept perfectly still, fighting the urge to just grab Dean and show him with kisses and touches what it was that he really wanted, and with that convince Dean to give in. Instead he kept his eyes closed and listened to his brother breathe. After all these days of darkness it was still oddly comforting to revert to it. The dark had been terrifying but it had brought him one thing, something he’d never believed in the harsh light of day that he could have.

He knew he was his brother’s weakness. If he really wanted to, he could get Dean to do pretty much whatever he set his mind to. He’d used that to his advantage quite a few times but not this time. This had to be something they both were ready to do. And if Dean couldn’t do it… Sam wasn’t sure what he would do but he had a feeling it involved more tears than he cared for and quite possibly a trip on a Greyhound Bus back to California.

He was so deep in thoughts that when he felt soft lips press against his he sucked in his breath in surprise. He hadn’t really expected… He hadn’t dared to hope.

Sam opened his eyes. Dean was watching him with a look of vulnerability Sam couldn’t remember ever seeing him express so openly before. As if he’d walked out on that tight rope and there was no going back and that left him exposed and terrified of falling down.

Sam smiled softly and reached out to pull Dean in again, holding his face between his hands as he pressed their lips together.

He could feel Dean’s pulse racing in the veins underneath his fingertips, he could smell the faint scent of sweat and salt on his skin. He tasted whiskey and pizza on Dean’s tongue, he listened to the soft hiccups of his breath change into languid moans.

His eyes were closed but it didn’t matter. He could see everything perfectly clear in the dark.

fin

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The Seven Sisters or Pleiades, are a cluster of stars situated on the shoulder of Taurus, the bull. The name is based on the myth of the seven daughters of Atlas about which one story says Zeus transformed them into stars after their deaths (suicides) as a comfort to their father. There are other myths as well, one of them saying they were the doves that brought baby Zeus ambrosia.  
> According to astrology the Pleiades have mainly malign effects, among them blindness, disgrace and evil influence, which many have interpreted as homosexuality. *rolls eyes* I swear I didn’t look for that, I was just looking for a myth that causes blindness and the ‘turn gay’ thing was a bonus. * g*  
> Other effects, depending on the position of other stars and the moon and sun, include:
> 
> “…blindness from fevers, small pox, and accidents to the face.”  
> “Throat ailments, chronic catarrh, blindness, bad eyes, injuries to the face, sickness, disgrace…” etc.
> 
> Quotes taken from [here](http://www.winshop.com.au/annew/Alcyone.html) and more info can be found [here](http://www.geocities.com/astrologyprincewilliam3/princewilliamsvenus2.htm).
> 
> As with all myths and astrological interpretations those regarding the Pleiades do vary. A lot. And I did take some poetic license in making the “curse”.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Belief Is A Three Letter Word](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684143) by [felisblanco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/felisblanco/pseuds/felisblanco)




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